


Bright Spot

by StarryNighty



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Black Reader, Black female reader - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryNighty/pseuds/StarryNighty
Summary: You work at Stark Tower, Steve introduces you to a new app.





	1. Chapter 1

** a/n If anyone is interested, I wrote Bright Spot to this [soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvK8T3LsYwI). **

**S**teve enjoyed the show. You danced, purple taffeta and silk twirled with your spin. He swore he could hear the beat of your heart accelerate, the fluttered pounds no louder than that of a moth. But still, he knew that it was your beat, steady and soft like the blood now rushing to his groin. Blue eyes started with your delicate fingers of your single hand that achingly reached for the sky. Submitting to an unseen force beyond his vision you began to sway, rocking back and forth to music unheard. Your other hand, flayed out to your side, trailed behind you in the spin of your bare tipped toes.

You always danced in his dreams.

The light floated over your brown skin bathing you in a soft cotton glow. The crown of ebony curls, tight coils bounced as you leaped forward with the cut of your hips through the air. You could have been an angel.

Was he dead?

Were you here to receive him?

Steve took a step closer as your back arched with the step to your side, you twirled around him like water trapped in a maelstrom. Your fluffy dress whirled around you as your form became caught in the undercurrent around him.

Tied together in a natural force. Gravity, or some other act of God, Steve was convinced it always meant to be.

Forever, he promised.

Steve stepped in front you stilling your motions. Like a fleshy statue, you did not move. You stared at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled in a smile you did not express. The purple of your dress faded to yellow pastel when he touched your face. He cupped it in his hands and held your pouty mouth close to his lips. He imaged you a fountain of eternal love, the beauty that only he may drink of. 

He wished that you could stay, like this, his immortal woman full of life and love.

He wished like hell that you were still alive.

* * *

** _Before_ **

It was early morning. A crisp fall 8 AM and you were feeling pretty good. You slept well enough despite the restlessness. 

Your hair picked up with a gust. You didn’t grab at it. You felt free today, graceful and bubbly inside. Wind, be damned to blow your good spirits away. All light vanilla and peach lingered on your warm skin. Giddiness rushed through you, it buzzed energizing your steps. Crunching over autumn leaves you tossed over the idea of finally asking Bucky Barnes out on a date.

Nervousness spilled into your chest exploding your heart with hope. Unrealized dreams skipped through your mind of stolen kisses in the supply closet, of him, whisking you away to the Avenger quarters for a secret rendezvous. A rough hand under your blouse and the other buried elsewhere –your mind could have endlessly continued.

Most of the office staff was accustomed to a few straggling Avengers. But being the down-home types, Bucky and Steve Rogers never minded catching up with the working folk. It was bound to happen. Contagiously reliable and trustworthy –salt of the earth types to a fault and always up for a chat. 

You turned your smiling face to the sun for a moment. You relished in its scant heat and thought of dreamy Bucky. With his dark hair and pale eyes, a wisp of shadowy stubble was enough to draw you in. A natural jokester he could set the whole office off in giggles with a drop of a few words. He was funny, you loved a man who could make you laugh.

His best friend Steve on the other hand- a stiff. Not one to idle too long. That would have interfered with their schedule. ‘Business first and play later’ was heard more than a laugh. He was Bucky’s best friend. And thank god, because he softened Steve. A hard-ass maybe, but quiet, absolutely not.

Steve had warmed up to you in his own way.

One day, Steve had noticed a few hardback books on your desk. Bucky grabbed one up and told you to follow. And you did. You and Steve had a love of books that helped to string together the trio in an odd way. Bucky liked to listen, Steve liked to read out loud, and you offered up the selection.

On your lunch breaks a few times a week they would find you. In the fresh air and with Steve’s deep enriched voice he would read a few pages before you returned. It was there that Bucky’s flirting was the most persistent. A brush on your thigh, an arm over your shoulder leaning you back into him as he listened to Steve. There had to be more in those little endearments. Right? And he made it so easy for you to feel comfortable.

Who wouldn’t fall in love with Bucky?

You entered through the double glass doors, floor forty-five, suite 234. It was small, basically a suit closet for the last three years. A new branch for Mr. Stark’s technology distribution. But it was efficiently repurposed with sleek reception furniture, thin desks the best Mr. Stark could provide. Less than a year old, the branch for Stark Industries but wonderfully positioned one floor and a staircase below the Avengers training grounds. 

You picked up your coffee at reception. Already the space buzzed. On the other side of the office, at the second doors, Bucky Barnes was greeting a few guys.

A swooning sigh brushed over your lips. You took a sip of your coffee and Bucky’s head turned toward you. Handsome Bucky. Sharp, forget-me-not blue eyes landed on you and that hitched sigh caught in your throat. A crooked smile from his wide downturned lips flipped into a full grin as he waved. In his standard white t-shirt and dark almost black combat cargos. Bucky kicked as he strode across the office, a swagger without intention, which it never failed to draw your attention. Captivating. He fanned a few metal fingers through a tuff of his dark brown hair.

“‘Mornin’,” he said.

You smiled warmly, maybe felt a little more tenacious than normal as you braved a few fingers down the side of his forearm. “Good morning Sergeant.”

Bucky’s smile lingered as he spoke. “Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. I meant to pop in.”

You nodded. Took in his half mournful expression. “Missions first.” You chipped off.

And then you knew this was the moment. You took a deep breath.

“Maybe we can catch up over dinner?” you asked.

Bucky’s smile faded and with the hope drained right out of the bottoms of your feet. You know what was coming before he said it. He stepped back, slightly shook his head and did his best to not look too shocked.

“You’re a great girl.” He began quietly, achingly so that you immediately felt sick.

The heat in your cheeks rivaled the flash of scorching embarrassment sweeping through your nerves.

“Oh my god. No. I’m sorry.” Your voice came out higher pitched and desperate to your dismay. “It’s okay. Please.”

You took a sip of your coffee nervously. “Um. I better go put my bag away. Again. Sorry.” You said quickly and walked away to the break room.

The wave of heat was still in your cheeks as you crossed the room. Eyes, you could feel eyes on you with every step. Of course, nobody had heard. It was in your mind. And now the anxiety of rejection fed your paranoia.

You hit the glass door a little too hard when you walked in. Steve was there, beyond the small kitchenette, alone, sitting near the large window with a book surrounded by potted plants. The quiet little nook had become his favorite spot.

You did not look at him as you passed by on your way to storage.

“Hey,” he announced softly. His blue eyes fixed on your sulking mood in a flash. “What’s wrong?”

Steve was up and following before you entered the space for the lockers. Not much bigger than a tuna can you could feel Steve there just behind you waiting at the door.

The hesitant stutter in his voice only piled on to your growing shame. “Did you ask him?” he asked.

You opened your locker, stuffed your purse into it and slammed the smooth metal door back. You stood there for a moment, with your hand pressed against the cool darkness of it wishing you hadn’t of asked. The joy of the morning faded quick, leaving your ego raw, maybe even a bit exposed. And Steve was witnessing it in real-time. Slowly, turning toward Steve you couldn’t at first look him in eye. Steve nimble at displays of emotion. If it hurt him you saw it, and now he gazed at you with pity, and you felt it too. For yourself.

“I feel like an idiot.” You whispered in a thin voice.

Steve was still standing in the threshold, leaning against the ebony wood with his legs spread with one foot in the break room and the other in storage. He pushed his hands into his slacks and looked back out into the break room. His lips disappeared into his trimmed beard as though he wanted to say the first thing he thought but reconsidered. Light blue eyes, narrowed as he looked out the break-room window.

“You’re not.” He said and turned back to you with a shrug. “Just bad timing. Don’t worry.”

You held your face. The piteous expression on Bucky’s face, the slow concern replacing it. You rubbed at your eyes and tried to bury the memory behind your lids. “I’m so embarrassed.” You said softly.

“Don’t be. It happens,” said Steve.

Clammy and shaking slightly your hands slid to your mouth. “To you?” you scoffed through your fingers.

Steve raised a hand with a laugh of his own. “Hey. I didn’t always look like this.” His hand dropped to his side, picked at his slacks as he spoke. “Being bony is all it’s cracked up to be.”

He walked in, stood a few feet from you, hints of his soap and clean skin hit your nose. His eyes gazed at you warmly and a fond smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

“There were plenty of rejections.” Steve winced slightly, cut his eyes at you gently hoping the word didn’t hit you too hard. Steve brushed long hay colored strands out of his eye. He ran a hand over his full dirty blond beard. You noted the red tinge in it and how it softened just before he smiled.

“It’s never easy putting yourself out there. But you did kid. Give yourself a break.”

He clapped a warm hand over your shoulder. He squeezed gently and waited for you to respond.

“Thank you, Steve.” You said through a weak smile of your own.

Steve nodded, swept a hand through his hair as he turned back toward the door. “You should think of it as dodging a bullet,” said Steve who half turned toward you as he walked.

“From what I hear he’s not that great of date anyways.” He chuckled and then disappeared back into the break room.

* * *

“Four dates and seven blonds later how do you feel?” chided Bucky.

You paused a moment inside the bathroom. Through the door, you could hear Bucky’s clear vibrant voice filter through it.

Steve’s voice was softer, more pliable through the wood. “Stop.” He warned.

“Come ‘on seriously. You have to be having a little fun, Stevie.”

You swung open the door and stepped out with a confused smirk. “What’s going on?”

Bucky poked Steve hard in the shoulder. “Man’s been taken over by a dating app. I told him he doesn’t need it.”

You ignored Bucky’s last part and stare at Steve. “What app?”

Steve walked over to you as Bucky gave him ‘your hopeless’ wave and walked away. Sam and Clint were on their way through the office again. You watched him for a moment, he was wearing blue. You bit back the sigh.

“Is that what you’re using to get dates? Plenty of fish?” You tried not to laugh as you refocus your attention back to Steve. The silliness of him needing such a thing seemed ironically hilarious. And as your eyes shifted back to him you felt shame instantly. He had been watching you stare at Bucky in the few short seconds.

Steve glanced in the direction Bucky had walked, scrunched his shoulders as his hands dove into his jeans pockets. “No, it’s this app.” He finally said and you were grateful he did not point out your pining gaze.

“Find Me. I signed up last month. Hey, you should too.” He said, lifting a hand out and pointing to you.

“Eh. I don’t know about that.”

He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” He ordered, though he smiled, you knew from his tone he was serious.

You groaned and pulled it out of your dress pocket and handed over. Surprisingly, he was fast. Had it installed, and up and running setting your profile.

“Smile.”

You managed a quick grin before he clicked snapping the photo. It was probably a disaster. You promised to change it later. His peter blue eyes dark under the florescent lights stared at the screen.

“There.”

You stepped next to him looked over his large arm down at your phone.

It chimed.

“See.” You looked up at Steve’s face, a mellow smile grew in his beard. “You already have a waypoint.”

“A waypoint?”

“Just a play on words. You know, Find me using a waypoint to go to them?”

“Ya I get it, Steve. God, I feel stupid.” You said and lifted the phone out of his hands. Steve shifted away from you, his hands folded back into his pockets.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” asked Steve followed by an imperceptible twitch of his brow. You might have missed that a year ago. But you knew him now. It was an annoyance.

“No. of course not Steve. Not you.” You sincerely expressed. He was the last person you would have thought naïve. “I mean, look at you. Coming across your pic? Who would pass you up?” you laughed softly.

The phone chimed again. You looked down at the bright screen, another notification added to the first. Well, if Steve Rogers used this, maybe you could give it a shot too.

Before the day ended you received five more waypoints. None of them were appealing. Either too over-enthusiastic or obnoxiously aloof was enough to ‘cancel’ the waypoints. Steve would have said you were picky. But why not? Your time was better spent with a nice guy. Not the machismo, phony quick wit you found in their profiles. You had every right to choose the best fit.

That night you fell into bed with your phone in your hand. Satin sheets slid over your legs. You were tired but regretfully giddy at the secret hope of a match. Your eyes widened. A message flashed in the corner. Your eyes danced over the flicker, you tucked in your bottom lip with repressed hope. 

It was the first message you had received.

Anticipation and curiosity got the best of you and clicked on it. Above the message, there was no profile image, just a gray bull’s eye, and a question mark.

_ **Hi. I noticed you like reading as your hobby. What’s your favorite book?** _

* * *

Work rolled by. Weeks turned into a month of messaging with the unknown profile. It was strange and non-intrusive so you didn’t mind too much. It was harmless. And you were just happy to have another person to talk to.

Besides, he was affable, smart, and seemed to have a few things in common with you. Though the thought did not escape you that he could see your face, but you had yet to see his. That worried you, but not enough to spend too much of your time on it. They were just conversations.

It was another day in the office. Thirty minutes passed lunch and a hallow deep rumbling of hunger pulled in your stomach. You stapled a few reports together and walked them to accounting on your way to the break room.

You popped your phone out, checked your messages. Nothing. Your stomach’s gurgling interrupted your initial thought instead you focused on food.

_Ah. I so could go for a slice of Gerry’s._

The soft melody chimed.

** _A piece of Gerry?_ **

_You’ve never been to the pie shop in Hoboken? :O It’s wonderful. I’ve only been there twice. It’s always full and I hate standing in lines. But I might risk it._

** _Are you going today?_ **

You took out the prepackaged salad from the fridge, your water and then sat at the round glass table. There was a smile on your face, small but hopeful as you began to reply. But you don’t get far in it.

Behind the door, raised voices caught your ear.

“You’re being an ass.” Steve’s voice muffled through the door.

“Me? I did what you asked. Now what? I don’t get what I want?” Bucky bit back.

A laugh, tight and airy – it was Clint. “Lover’s quarrel?” he asked.

There was silence after that. Bucky knocked open the door to the break room, Clint close behind him. Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits when they land on you. Sharp jawed, squaring up his hard expression his lips drawn in thin. He was in a mood.

“Whoa. What’s going on?” you asked then shoved a bite of salad into your mouth.

“The supes are fighting. Big match after school.” Clint’s thin smirk spread to one half of his face. He glanced down at your salad and sat across from you. “Wanna watch it?” he asked, his dimples deeply creasing his now wide smile. He picks off your plate. Tossed it in his mouth with a smack and then winked.

Clint Barton – the biggest flirt of the bunch. Tech-savvy and smooth in most instances with a sarcastic flare that often left you breathless.

“Arguing over who has the biggest muscles again?” you teased.

Bucky stopped, piercing blues raked over you stilling your motions and next thought.

He shifted his weight to the right fixing you in his glare. “What the hell would _you_ know about it?” he said icily.

Tactile heat rushed into your cheeks. Shame. “That’s rude.” You replied in a small voice, thin and fragile like the napkin crumpled in your hand.

You look away back to your salad wishing that you never opened your mouth.

“Why’d you say that asshole?” asked Clint.

He stood up. Somewhere on your peripheral vision, you see Clint motion for Bucky to leave.

“Sorry..it’s just.” Bucky’s voice warmed up, though brittle. “Nevermind.”

After they had gone you typed on your phone once again.

_No. I don’t feel like dealing with people today._

~~~~~~~

Your tiny kitchen was filled with the smell of chocolate pecan cookies. Nutty and sweet, they sat cooling on a wire rack atop the counter.

Your phone chimed.

** _So what do you like to do for fun?_ **

You glanced over to your phone. The second your eyes leave, a lapse in attention, some of the flour in the bag spilled.

White dust. Powdery pearl smudged all over the bottom of your jaw, your neck and quite possibly down your t-shirt. You fumbled with the giant bag of flour you got on sale, tipping the almost empty bag into the container.

You toss the spent bag and pick up your phone swiping flour along the way as you type.

_I like to bake. But I’ve slowed down a lot since work has gotten intense. It’s calming. What do you do to unwind?_

The question gave you enough time to clean up and put things away.

** _I like to sketch. Paint if I have time._ **

You picked up a couple of warm out of shape cookies, stuff one whole into your mouth as you walked out. Your thumbs busily flicked over the keys clumsily.

_Anything in particular?_

The bubble idled for a moment.

** _Places, buildings, and scenery. People too, if I feel inspired._ **

_Is there a building you recently drew?_

** _The Stark Tower. It’s interesting, more windows than most. Besides, it’s where I work. It gives me a chance to study it better._ **

Your breath catches, you even choke a bit on the last of your cookie as you stared at the phone.

_I work there too!!_

~~~~~~~~~~

Your imagination ran wild. Could it be? That the man you currently text every day, nearly every hour worked somewhere near you in this very building.

Even though Bucky had sloughed you off there were still hopes.

That lovely smile still pointed at you from across the room. He nodded with a wave and started speaking with Clint.

And then you remembered the bow master. He too held your gaze sometimes. Though he was not as forward as Bucky he touched you often. A pet here and there, over your arm around the small of your back.

You pulled the phone from your desk drawer. There were no messages, yet. You quickly type out a prompt.

_Do you like bows?_

** _Bows? As in robin hood? LoL. No._ **

~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day and you were in charge of baking for the office party. Thanksgiving was important for the little space you worked in. There were only a half dozen working along with the straggling Avengers. The manager, overly excited that most of the team would attend, you stupidly volunteered your time. You were excited, though scared. Not that you had bragged about what a great baker you were, but still you had to convince the administrator you wouldn’t let her down.

There you stood. Sweating, hair frizzed from the humid heat of boiling clear sugar being poured into your mixer of heavily whipped egg whites.

And then you smell it.

Burning. Burning, stank-ass, butter, and sugar.

Oh shit, you forgot.

Smoke seeped from the edges of the oven below you.

Your phone chimed at the same time you poured the last of the stream of sugar into the bowl.

At the same time, you slapped the pot back onto the stove and then grabbed your mitt and dove to retrieve your cookies.

Black splotches, even a few wisps of smoke lingered around the edges of your cookies. You tossed the sheet pan on the counter, glanced at your whipping mixer ruefully.

Shaking your head, done and up to your eyeballs with the frustration of not setting a timer, you grabbed a warm piece off of one of the least singed cookies. You popped it into your mouth. A smell of burned sugar carried in as you chewed but overall it tasted great. A delighted shrug scrunched your shoulders as you reached for the phone from the kitchen island.

** _What are you doing? Hi, btw._ **

_ARG. I was trying a new recipe. Pumpkin cookies. I added too much butter. They completely –they’re burned. Taste good though._

** _Then they are perfect. Just like you._ **

Your breath catches. This person called you perfect.

** _Not everything that looks like a mess is a mess._ **

_Thank you :)_

~~~~~~

Most of the holidays were passed you now. Thanksgiving, Christmas, now you faced the New Year. You were struggling to make it through; the last bits of the year seemed to slow down.

Even the Avengers dragged ass. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Sam passed through, a few breaking off to chat with a friend. You waved at Steve and Sam on your way to the accountant. Sam jabbed Steve in the ribs until he grinned, and gave you a curt nod.

It did not take you long to turn over your report to the accountant. You walked back passed the break room and found your desk and sat. For a moment you fumbled with a few papers left there. One and then two stacks you put them in their rightful place until you whittled the pile down.

And there it was. A perfectly square piece of paper, thicker than what the office supply closet offered. You picked it up. It was heavier too.

On ii, the cursive was slender and slanted to the right.

_ **Hi!** _

_ **It’s me. The man from the phone. I stopped by. Yes. I figured out which desk was yours. It had to be yours. It’s the only one with a pie sign that says: No Soggy Bottoms.** _

_ **I didn’t have much time. But I wanted to leave you a note so that you would know I came by. Look at reception, I left you something!** _

You read it three more times. Shocked, the note fell from your fingers as you glanced around at your nearest neighbors. It was lunch and of course, they were gone.

Quickly you walked to the next area, through the office doors to the receptionist.

A small vase sat there with yellow daisies standing lovely out the top of it.

The woman points to them, and an excited smile spread across her lips.

“They were here when I got back!”

You didn’t know who this was, but you certainly loved the attention you were getting.

You opened the card on it simply written out in the same hand.

** _I’ve thought about you for a while now. Ever since you started here. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I hope that’s okay to say._ **

~~~~~~~~~~

You paced over the smooth wood of the break room floor. Your eyes darted to Steve and then back to the floor in thought.

“I think I should meet him, Steve.” You mumbled. The weight of Steve’s eyes, his hard stare could look right through in the right instances. Like now.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice deep penetrating like he was talking to a soldier.

“What if he’s odd?” Steve shrugged as he spoke. “Do you want me to come with you just in case?” he offered.

“I’ve been talking to him for months, Steve.” You matched him as you crossed her arms too. “He’s smart, worldly, and_ so_ funny. He’s basically great at this point.”

Steve slowly shook his head, a smile at the corner pulled though you suspected it was more for concern.

“What if he looks like-“ Steve started but you held up your hand.

“I don’t care!” you hissed, though it came out more like a whine.

Steve leaned against the break room counter, crossed his arms over his wide chest.

“Then you should meet him here.” Said Steve as he pointed toward the floor sharply. “In the coffee shop, near the front lobby.”

“Yes! That’s perfect. Plenty of people, open, but still private. Thank you!”

Lunch was over the moment Steve offered up the right spot to meet up. Immediately you pulled out your phone and typed up a message. But you stopped halfway. You tugged at the bit of skin of your bottom lip in thought. What if he said no? It was time to make a change for once. Step out of your comfort zone, as it were, and take a chance.

_Do you want to meet up?_

And then he did not text back for hours. Around four to be exact. Four long hours of checking your phone, at first, ever five minutes to see if they replied. Then that dwindled to every thirty minutes, and then just winging it hour to hour.

Eventually, and gratefully for the last hour, you had not thought about it. You just kept clicking away at your computer, turning in reports, and making phone calls.

And as you hung up with the last of the suppliers you heard it. The chime of the app, specifically, the sound of a message halted your last movement. Quickly you grabbed for your phone next to the printer and opened the message.

**_Yes! Where? There is this taco stand on the corner_**.

Happiness, sweet exhilaration swept through the forlorn thoughts of loneliness. Considering the smart plan Steve offered up you typed up your response.

_Let’s meet at the café in the building? It’s the most convenient. And we both are in the same building!_

** _Sounds great! So today?_ **

You want to say next week. But you are so anxious to know who he was you replied fast.

_Yes. I can’t wait. :)_

* * *

The glass doors shimmered with the afternoon sun. Sparkles and angled shards of light flicker over the shiny marble floor. You looked nervous to him. Sitting in the brightest spot in the room, near one of the floor-length windows where the sunlight bounced off the reflective art deco and glittered over your form. With your back to the door, you shifted back and forth on the smooth surface of the chair. He watched you. You took too many sips of your coffee in a row then sat it down, and then once again picked it up again to another sip. He started to smile. He glanced down at the box in his hand and then back up to you.

He was late.

But he had a feeling that this box and what was in it could make up for it.

He began to walk to you. A hand, you anxious scratch at the back of your curly black hair. He was closer now. Perhaps a few feet away. You sat there, all curves wrapped up in a blanket of nerves and bravery.

He took the last step toward you and sat the pizza box in the middle of the small round table.

Wafts of garlic, stretchy cheese, and tomatoes swirled around you. Scrolled across the top in the green chunky font it said Gerry’s Slice. Immediately your eyes dart to the person who stood it there.

It was Steve.

You stared at him for a minute. You put two and two together. It was Steve texting you the whole time. It was Steve who sent you flowers…the person who said such sweet things to you.

“Sorry, I’m late. I wanted to grab you more than a slice of Gerry’s” he smiled and you shyly grinned back.

You cover the wide smile that erupted with your laugh. He grinned as he sat down in front of you.

“Steve?” you asked with a whisper.

“I would have told you sooner.” Steve’s voice slightly wiggled as he nervously scoffed, rubbed his hand over his thigh and looked out the window.

“I, I just was afraid you wouldn’t like me.” He said, his smooth fawn skin blushed to an endearing rose around his neck and blotched on the rise of his cheek bones. Squinting he turned back to you like he was ready for a blow.

“Not like you?” you said in a breath. Awestruck for a moment that Steve Rogers was afraid of you the mechanics of your brain froze for a few seconds.

“Ya, know. With the feelings you have for Bucky..” he added looking even more concerned the longer you did not speak.

Not like him? You gazed at Steve. He was beautiful. Always. The rays of the sun’s early evening light splintered over his face. The soft buttery glow only made him more handsome. Your eyes lingered over his clothes. He had changed for you. A knitted red cardigan over a smart button-up dress shirt, one you had never seen, looked crisp and freshly starched. Traditional.

Steve flipped open the pizza box with a smirk and gestured toward it.

“I thought the same.” You suddenly said. “I mean, I wasn’t sure you would like me too. Not out here, in the real world.” You stuttered.

Steve’s expression shifted from boyish shyness to concern. His hand stumbled over the box, clumsily he shut it again and placed his hand over yours resting on the table.

His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the dimple in your half smile the budding wonderment in your expression.

“What’s not to like about you? You’re perfect.” He said, interlaced his long fingers around yours.

Hearing the words from Steve’s mouth was easier than believing them.

“I’m still the same person who you text.” He said, a growing loving smile opened into a wide smile. “Remember, you love to bake but you burned that batch of pumpkin cookies? I told you then you were perfect. I mean that now too.”

* * *

Steve doesn’t want to be gentle. But he is when it comes to you. _Mostly_.

He shows restraint when all he wants to do is dive into you over and over. Hold you down, pin you against the bed and make you a scared mess of wet and want. But this is the first time. He begins to slowly cover your body with his. He imagined himself as a protective shield for you from the world and he loves it. Being your man.

Your _lover_.

And then, eventually, your husband. In time.

You were scared to undress. Steve slowly relieved you of the thick sweater, the undershirt. He pulled down your bra enveloped one of your dark areolas into his is mouth and watched you fight the growing feeling.

Funny beginnings turn to the stuff of fairy tales. Why not? He asked himself the same question over and over. After every battle, skirmish, and almost forgotten world wars the hope of relief would overcome him. Why couldn’t he be happy?

You made him happy.

And when he entered you with the utmost care, he relished in the hot softness of you. Tightness surrounded him, drove him deeper than he knew you would like but still he pushed. Your desperate yelps made him harder, already he can feel his orgasm beg for release but he holds off.

It was worth it. The waiting, the planning the outright lying. To see you here now with your legs open wide and spread for him, your arms wrapped around his neck for support as you ride out the pain of his width.

"Doin’ so good darlin’.” Steve’s voice quivered. Husky, he doesn’t clear it, only tried to concentrate on the ripple of your cunt. “Takin’ me so well baby. Do love it?” he asked, already your head slowly nodded with your eyes shut.

“Look at me, baby. Open those beautiful browns and look at me darlin’.” He said softly, kissed your lips nudging you to do as he asked.

Your eyes fluttered open and he felt his balls tense. He moans with the ache you leave in him. The frantic want threatens to overcome him but he can feel how close you are.

“I love it,” you whispered on his lips.

“I love you,” his voice deep, from the fathomless pool of his soul sent a shuddered through your body, leaving you shivering underneath him.

Your orgasm had your legs outstretched, toes pointed in the air as your head rolled on the soft sheets.

“I love, love, I love you,” you chanted.

Those words, your body was enough to prompt Steve to show you how he loved you. He leaned back on his knees rocked back and forth inside of you allowing the strength of your orgasm to fade. A smile, satisfied and possibly a tad bit wicked spread across his lips cutting through his thick beard.

Steve drew your legs to your chest, scrunching your belly and pushing down your breasts as he folded you in half. Air rushed out of your lungs with the weight of him, he drew your arms up above your head and pinned you there to the mattress.

He wanted to feel your skin under his for this. Legs pinned, not giving you a choice he pushed passed your folds roughly.

Your mouth hung open in a gasp that only added to his growing need. “No…no,” you whispered through a breath in resistance of his urge to completely take you.

“Yes.” He slid in. “Yes.” He pushed in again, harder. “Yes.” He hissed as he slammed inside you.

Forceful pointed thrust to your pelvis began to tumble into smooth stokes. Searching, for his orgasm, for meaning, for you he did not stop until he felt your cunt clench around his length.

Long dirty blond hair fell into your eyes, his lips hovered over yours as his husky voice panted over your lips. “Are you goin’ to cum, baby?”

His dirty words, the position leaving you exposed began to build within you. Deep, not from your bundle of nerves, it was strange, new and you wanted more. You nodded, gasped again with another hard snap from his hips.

“Use your words, honey.” He commanded.

“Yes, yes.” You insisted as you laid there and took him in.

Before the words flew from your mouth it happened. You couldn’t move through it, bent in half the struggle to unclench your muscles impossible. Steve gripped your wrists harder, pushed his weight on to your body more as his head tipped back.

Your suffering, the pained yelps, made it feel sweeter. He was in the final strokes before Steve decided to make you a mother. The weight of his whole body drove every thrust.

“Honey, you feel so good.” He moaned, drew out the last few words with every deft stroke to your pussy.

Without another sound, you knew what was next. You wiggled your hips under him, shifted a bit but it did nothing to stop him. If anything it seemed to tip him toward what he wanted.

It felt good, deliciously so. But apprehension swept through you in the seconds of his action.

“Wait. Don’t,” You tried to say it with conviction. But did you truly feel that way?

Steve was going to cum inside of you. It turned you on. Frightened you too. No strength to be gained in your compromised position, there was little struggle. Just words, mumbled chants demanding that he stop. There was nothing you could do. Steve continued to his pace, long, deep thumping against your skin.

The fear of being a mother, the abject horror of not being good at it. Dread, you can taste it in your mouth and it left you dripping wet around his cock. It disturbed you, how much it turned you on. Steve claiming you for his and imposing his will inside of you. The loss of control mixed with Steve’s steady thrusts was exhilarating.

Steve dipped his head back down and stared at you. Primal, feral and desperation in his eyes, you shuttered your lids shutting out the glare.

“Look me in the eyes when I cum in you.” He groaned. “Do it. I wanna see my girl watch me.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

Grunting and growling under his thick beard, Steve slammed his cock in deep bruising your cervix. Hisses and grunts fell from his lips with the force of his orgasm.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

* * *

He had years with you. Three, beautiful years to be exact.

The courtship lasted a few months before he asked for your hand in marriage. It was not a surprise to most, but it was for you.

As always you never expected happiness. He was like that too, but he could hardly tolerate seeing that in you.

He wanted your days with him to be happy.

And they were.

Until that day.

He tried. He begged to higher powers that you were safe at home. He prayed that their failure would not reach you. He had tried desperately to stop Thanos. He would have given his life to end it.

And he hoped that you were there, scared but whole and waiting to hear from him.

But he never heard from you.

Steve walked into the apartment, the cute brownstone you had chosen and mostly decorated yourself. Bags from toy stores were on the kitchen counter next to a pizza box. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. He walked through the kitchen toward the living room. You had shopped more. Bought many more frames for the wall of memories you had began to hang. He walked passed new photos of the two of you, the wedding, Sam and Bucky, and then the sonogram.

It still smelled like you in there. Vanilla, maybe hints of that flowery fabric softener you loved to use. His eyes fell to the light jacket lying on the floor where you dropped it.

Steve picked up the purple windbreaker and held it to his nose, and then to his face burying his tears into the fabric.

Not too long ago you had worn it.

But you were gone with the rest. Vanished.

* * *

The dream was coated in haze. Out of focus, fuzzy like a halo in his vision the center point is sharp. You are positioned there. The most important part of the entire room, beautiful, bright.

Sprawled out in your trusty over-sized sweater that barely covers your thick smooth thighs, a pair of his tube socks pulled up to your knees a book rested on your belly. Sheets of white snow fall behind you beyond the window. You curled your toes, stretched an arm behind your head on the pillow as you smiled at the book.

Steve stood there watching you. He always does. These dreams, have a trick to stick to them, so he took in as much as he could before it shifted. You were like a dream to him, too afraid to wake up and too hopeful that it could come true.

But it did. You happened and made him feel his weight in the world.

He walked to you. With every step pieces of the room faded away. He gets to his knees on the side of the couch, near you, with his forearms crossed over the top of the cushion he peered at you.

Your brown eyes slid from the book to his.

Your full lips split into a smile a wicked grin that maybe today wouldn’t end with just a cuddle.

Snow falls on your lips. He can’t see past anything else other than you lying warmly on the couch propped up on your arm a book precariously balanced on your swollen belly.

Steve puts his hand there. The width of his hand spread over your belly button. The book tips with a kick from within. He laughed, a strained wondrous breathy giggle pulled from his chest instead of tears.

A baby.

Steve looked back toward you. The book was gone, you were on your side watching him with sad teary eyes.

“Are coming for us Steve?” your voice sounded like a cacophony of harmonized moans. Your voice carried through him around him and into his skin. It scared him, he wanted to look away but he doesn’t. He took the pain. Made it his main purpose.

“I am.”

“Don’t let us go, Stevie…” you said, your face turned gray. Your brown eyes faded to pewter stone as he watched. He cupped your face, flakes rubbed off under his thumb as it caressed your dry bottom lip. Your expression began to crack.

You turned to dust.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Continuation of the very long drabble I posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tried to go in a bit more on the elements of you and Steve’s relationship. As in the first part, it does bounce around between periods of time, but they are labeled. Sorry it’s so long, sorta gotta away from me. But I hope you enjoy it. :)

**S**teve married you in upstate New York. Wellington Bed and Breakfast hosted the event. A white patchy colonial nestled in colors of blue, violet tulips. Blossoming pink weeping cherry trees tangled together near the floppy petals of magnolia trees.

Gold from the sunset overtook the white lights beginning to flicker to life in the crowd below. The scene moved, like the swirl of brush strokes, with the bodies dressed in shades of pastel, the occasional primary color appeared as varied as the flowers growing along the grounds. The thump of music softly bumped up to you, through the walls of the room and vibrated the glass in front of you.

You sighed while sliding a damp palm down your white wedding dress.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist. It was Steve. The man was now your husband and since the ceremony, by the thistle bushes, he hasn’t kept his hands to himself.

The nervousness that plagued you in the early hours of the day kept at you. Though it was over now, the exchanging of vows, you still hung on to the anxious energy as you watched the people.

Your hand clasped over Steve’s intertwined fingers below your belly button. He pulled into you, rested his temple near the crux your jaw and neck. The hard, thick part of his groin brushed up against your ass and you knew why he had set out to find you.

“Steve, there are over one hundred guests waiting.” You said blissfully as you sunk back into his chest allowing his warmth to mix with your own.

His beard brushed against your cheek as his lips kissed your ear as he spoke. “Let them wait,” Steve whispered.

Steve reached for the curtain, shuttered it with the thick fabric. His arm returned as he took a step back from the window.

“Steve…” you said between delicate kisses Steve peppered along your neck. “We paid a lot of money…we should be there-“you gasped out as his hand rubbed through the lace of your dress.

“I don’t want to share you with anybody right now.” His voice was ragged with the promise of what was to come, Steve began to unzip the back of your dress.

The white silk slid from your shoulders and pooled at your heels. The sudden absence of Steve’s heat turned you around to see him on his knees. The top of his fresh cut blond hair was the most of his head you could see. You could imagine the expression on his face, however. His hands began at your ankles, warm palms glided up the smoothness of your calves to your wide thighs.

He couldn’t wait to get you alone. Desperate for the moment when he finally had you to himself he followed you off the dance floor. And now, you standing here, a vision of a married woman, he couldn’t articulate the ways he wanted to consummate your promise to him.

His light blue eyes, now navy with want, gazed at the lilac and white lace lingerie you wore.

“This is for me?” he asked, his voice shaking in pitch when he reached your hips.

Steve pulled your hips towards his face as he dipped his nose towards your cunt. He breathed deep sending a shuddering shiver down your thighs.

Long fingers pulled one half back as his tongue slid over your crease.

Instantly your hands gripped the back of his silky hair. His mouth laid kisses first, tender pecks on your thighs before once again licking your sensitive lips.

He buried his mouth there. Sucking gently, and then licking around your clit, the thumb of his other hand began to knee the joint of your hip through your skin. It burned but became background noise to the want growing in your pelvis.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the lashing of his tongue, you gripped him harder now, with both hands holding him there. You were close. So close to feeling the burst of pleasure he was capable of giving you.

Steve pulled back with a smack of his lips. His hands never left your body as he stood. Kissing you with the taste of yourself on his breath and tongue your hands tugged at his belt.

His breath caught when you began to stroke him. Long, wide his grip fell to your forearms and squeezed with every pump of your hand.

“You’re mine now, honey…” he promised. “You know that?” he asked softly.

You nodded against his cheek still swimming in the sea of your desire your strokes became tighter, more urgent with the slick at the tip of his cock. His hands cupped your face tilting your eyes to meet his.

“My wife.” He grunted and kissed you again.

Steve grabbed your hands within his and stepped you out of your wedding dress. A few short steps to the bed and he had you bent over in heels and the bottoms of your lingerie at your knees.

He was inside of you in a matter of seconds afterward.

The shocked gasped escaping your lips matched his groan. Steve’s hips slapped against your ass in his hurried pace. Your head bowed to his strength, your back arched to the surrendering need to have him fill you. He gripped your hips slammed you back into him with his powerful strokes.

“All for me…” he groaned, and pushed his cock back in passed your dark folds.

Still in his tuxedo, the soft fabric of his pants puddle at his shiny shoes Steve pounded harder. You were soaking wet, like always, and he made little effort to guard you against the ache he caused by repeatedly making you take his girth.

It turned him on, turning you out and begging like you were now for the sweet release he offered.

You were his now. That fact made him grow harder, the tip of his cock felt heavier with every plunge. Your body, your sweet voice moaning softly belonged to him now. You were bound to him, and he was yours too. That thought alone almost made him cum.

And when your cunt waved, gripped harder with your orgasm around his cock he knew it at this moment he was waiting for you. All this time, you were out there. He only had to bide his time.

Steve pushed forward with a lasting hard thrust spilling inside of you completing the day’s ceremony.

He was your husband.

You were his wife.

Together, forever. Always.

* * *

_**Now** _

  
Steve saw the wooden frame on the desk with his second glance.

It was himself. A thinner man, before the serum, before the loss of Bucky and before his long sleep in the ice. When talk of Infinity Stones and time travel were no more than science fiction, Steve remembered the diligence of his convictions, the fierceness of his loyalty.

He turned back to the opaque door, the name Margaret Carter written in bold print read backward. Distant voices–muffled but unbearably recognizable drew his attention to the shuttered window in front of the desk.

Peggy strode in.

And like a breeze hitting him the face her appearance stole his breath.

The kiss on the runway surfaced first. It had always been there, buried beneath the sea of memory. The feel of her wide red lips on his brought with it sorrow, and guilt.

Steve held the frame in his hand. He gripped it tightly as he walked around the desk toward Peggy beyond the window. She was older. Gray hair streaking through her chestnut hair, a few delicate lines around her mouth. Beautiful.

Cool air and smoke lingered in his memory, he could have sworn he could smell it now. It was his choice to crash the plane. To protect.

There was a time he would have given everything to go back and change that moment. He could have jumped, could have tried harder to steer the plane to its final watery destination.

But it was a choice to stay and ensure the world would be protected.

And with it, he expected to die.

He did not.

Steve stood a few feet from her, the only barrier a plane of glass and a few decades worth of blame and love.

Love. He didn’t know what the word meant now when he thought of Peggy. Longing, sure—forever he expected some part of him would always pine for her.

He remembered the last kiss. Though now as the memory surfaced her lips were replaced with yours. The beautiful brown skin of your neck, hot and damp from the fervor of lovemaking exploded in vibrant brilliance over the memory of Peggy’s touch.

He missed Peggy, what once was and the burgeoning possibility of more.

But he longed for you. His girl with the wide smile, deep dimples for only him and a shy disposition that only he could breakthrough.

The love of his life was waiting.

Steve turned his back on the window and with it the closure he had always hoped for started the moment he set the photo back on Peggy’s desk.

Steve wondered if she would ever stop thinking of him. His eyes wandered back to her figure on the other side of the glass. He was sorry for any pain he caused for her. But now he had another, a woman waiting for him at the end of all of this.

Steve walked out of the door and back into the fluorescent glow of the facility.

It was his choice.

* * *

_**Before**_  
  
  
A whole year passed since the wedding.

You strode by windows of bakeries, a pop-up shop, the regular bodegas on the way to Stark Tower.

To be clear, you did wake up generally feeling great. Until you realized that the bed you shared with Steve was empty this morning.

You confessed to the ether that there wasn’t one thing that made you fall in love with Steve. But it happened. The effort, perhaps, to gain your attention was the beginning. His eyes, though, a color of blue of his own, that watched you as he read was probably the heart of the reason. Even if you did not appreciate it back then, his gaze was always more than friendship, far more than infatuation. You often struggled to understand the moment, like your emotions, when it involved Steve. Like a ball of string wound tie upon itself, your feelings were impossible to find the beginning to unravel the thread.

But you knew these tight spun moments were the reason why you felt so deeply today. 

Because of Steve.

You worked through the day. He was on your mind. Your husband.

The one you had vowed to love until your dying day.

And when you arrived back home from a day of menial work with bags from the grocery store. You decided that yes, he might have forgotten, but you had not.

Casually, you popped open a bottle of red wine and set to cooking tacos, his favorite at the moment, and sang to yourself as the stereo hummed with the old tunes Steve loved.

And then you ate alone. You drank alone too.

Steve had failed to tell you that his mission would last longer.

Maybe you enjoyed that entire bottle of wine too much because the last thing you remembered was lying on the couch, phone in hand sending your last text.

_Happy Anniversary_

~

The smell of croissants and bacon woke you up. A whiff of strong coffee opened your eyes.

The small living room of Steve’s apartment was darkened save for a single stream of light peeking through the slits of the curtains.

In front of you, on the oblong wooden coffee table sat a tray. Your eyes fell to the steam rising from your favorite mug. A shadow from the end of the couch caught your attention.

It was Steve.

Face smudged with grime all the way to his ruddy beard, wide blue eyes stared at you as he came around. His boots were off, silver utility shirt and his black boxer briefs, he walked silently near the table and sat his ass on the floor near the couch. Close to your head, you could smell the fight on him. Sweat, maybe a metallic tang in the air as his hand stroked your cheek.

You turned on your side toward him. “You forgot.” Steve bowed his eyes to your lips with the crack in your voice.

“No.” he mumbled.

His hand dropped to yours resting on the cushion of the couch. He covered it with his own, caressed the back leaving a trail of grime. “Yes, you did Steve.”

You were right, and you were wrong he thought. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment then he turned his head to the tray. He had fully intended to surprise you yesterday morning. But he had been called away in the night and left the apartment not wanting to disturb you. And then, the day just continued in a series of heated battle-ready moments that took him away from the thought of a wife, of a life outside of war.

He didn’t remember until he was on the way home. He pulled out his phone, turned it on, and saw your message. There was no excuse to be made.

“Yes, I did.” He said, biting his bottom lip he turned back toward you.

He combed both hands through dirty slick strands and tugged at the back before he grabbed your face. Steve got to his knees and huddled in close to you. His wide body, arms pressed you’re your pillow down as he dipped the couch with his weight. Eye to eye, nose to nose, Steve gazed back at you.

Still laying on your side you let him. Steve stroked your right cheek as he stared into your eyes.

His lips kissed yours lightly. He nudged his nose into yours.

He sighed as he spoke. “I’m sorry honey.”

And when you did not respond to that he kissed you again. He wished, he hoped it would be enough to show you the love he felt.

You only stared back at him. Watery brown eyes, your brows scrunched in sorrow at his attempts to comfort did nothing for your sadness.

He had forgotten his love.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and the emotion that threatened to tip him into an infinite lake of guilt and regret. Instead, he concentrated on the future.

Steve kissed you again. This time, thankfully, you kissed him back.

He wondered how many more of these moments would happen. And he vowed, like the day he married you, to love you forever.

Always.

* * *

** _Now_  
  
**

Steve’s stomach dropped.

Bruce knelt in agony. His face pulled down in painful horror as he gripped his wrist to reign in his thoughts with the actions of his snap. The smell of scorched skin, burned hair floated throughout the lab as electricity popped and singed the flesh of Bruce. Steve stood ready, shield in hand bracing for the worst possible outcome.

This is it.

Steve swears to whoever listened to the minds of mortals, be it God or the fabric of the universe that you are back in the world. He silently pleads too.

Somewhere deep within him, he can _feel_ it.

Bruce fell back to the floor, the gauntlet, cracked and used pulled from his large hand. Steve ran to him first, he wanted to ask if it worked, he wanted to know what Bruce thought to bring them back.

But he comforts his friend. Tried his best in the situation to bring some stability to a shaky moment.

“Did it work?” Bruce asked he grabbed Steve’s arm his large brown eyes begging for an answer.

Those words fall through Steve. They hit every memory of you and came running back through his heart. A caustic ache of hope and excitement began to ignite in his soul. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

There was silence, Steve’s eyes rose to the tree outside the lab. It’s once green leaves now shades of orange and yellow, of fall. They remind him that in the coming months soon it would be the wedding anniversary. Would it be eight years married or just the three? He asked himself through the miasma of anticipation. Five years post-snap doesn’t count, he decided, he never had a chance to tell you every day how much he loved you.

It doesn’t count at all.

The last place you stood was in the new home he had bought. He had not been back in two years and imagined you there, near the couch reappearing confused surrounded by the lack of care he couldn’t bring himself to apply to the home.

A shadow, quickly creeping on the floor of the lab pulled him out of his thoughts. It floated over Bruce, the tables and before Steve could have another thought of you he was plunged back into fighting.

* * *

_ **Before** _

The new Avengers compound was everything Tony Stark needed it to be. But it was further away from the building you use to work at.

But you drove there nearly every day just to see Steve. Today was no different except for a stomach flu had put a damper on your mood. You still picked up his favorite burger from the town nearest to the compound. The smell both disgusted you and made your stomach grumbled but you promised yourself to wait. It had been two days since you had dinner with your husband.

You would have been there at 7 PM. But you arrived at eight and once in the compound you directly headed toward the training grounds. Steve was always there on the days you visited. He had kept his promise, mostly. After the wedding anniversary debacle, he had made certain to be there when you visited.

The next two anniversaries were amazing. Swept off to the Canary Islands for the second and then to France for the third he had made it up to you. In his own way.

Your mood brightened when you entered the facility. The lack of noise hit you first. Easily, he could have been washing up. And for your own sexy surprise, you went to the showers ready to catch him off guard for perhaps a peek.

He was not there. But you were late, so there was a chance he had headed elsewhere to wait for you.

It was typical though. Such a large building he could have been anywhere really. And you searched. The common area, the quarters, the equipment room and then finally the carrier pad with all the rows of jets prepped and ready to fly. In the distance behind one of them, you caught sight of his fair hair.

You wagged the bag of food and your small duffle with you across the tarmac. His voice, thick and resound carried. A smile was already creasing your lips as you drew nearer.

A high pitched giggled followed by a few comments on how funny Steve was stopped your advances.

The woman’s shrill laugh hit the metal of the jet and then echoed out into the yard.

“Are you busy tonight?” she asked, her voice now soft—fragile even with a pitch too close to flirting than you liked.

You did not give Steve a chance to answer. You lightly called out his name as you walked around the quinjet to find him there standing in front of a beautiful woman.

“Actually I am,” he said. Steve smiled as he walked to you threw his arms around your shoulders and kissed you on the lips.

“My girl is here. Rebecca this is my wife.” He grinned down at you and then turned back to the woman.

Her thin pink lips pulled into a toothy half-smile. “Nice to meet you. Very lucky woman.” She said.

“I’m the lucky one,” said Steve. “I don’t know how she puts up with me, honestly. She’s one in a million.”

Both you and Steve wandered back toward the compound after the woman had taken leave. But you couldn’t help but wonder about it. How she stared at Steve, how he spoke to her before he knew you were there.

And the hours of work, the missed lunch dates, the shortened days due to his work schedule. You could feel it in you, the bout of irrational paranoia that had nested in your mind. It wiggled around and poked at your insecurities.

Your voice began softly as you spoke. “Is she the reason?“ You said as you continued to stare at the pebbled tar. “Why you’re always late?” you asked.

Steve stopped mid-stride and turned toward you. "You were late today. Did I miss something? You’re the one who showed up with cold food.”

You stopped, gripped the bag of food hard as you cut your eyes back him both hurt and angry. And before you could even get a handle on the temper you blurted out whatever popped into your mind.

“I was late because I got sick. You are late because you put work before our relationship.” You hissed.

Steve gestured to his chest, poked the kevlar silver star hard as he spoke through his teeth. “I moved everything around, for _you_.”

It was an old fight. An old wound that never fully scabbed over and allowed to heal. The same energy of him assessing who was right in the situation and never considering what he was doing wrong.

“Moved for me?” you spit back, rocked back on your heels away from him, hot-headed and deliberately bitter you dug in the bag of burgers. You pulled one out still wrapped in the yellow parchment paper and threw on the ground at his feet. “Move that for me.”

Humid spring air off of the lake gently swept over your face, your hair. The deep pungent odor of moss and damp soil hung around you when the wind died down. You had walked to the dock, sat down and finished your cold burger in silence.

God, your stomach was at it again. You tossed half the burger back in the bag and gripped the bench. The pit of your stomach felt like it moved inside you, like an actual slosh of the chunky meat and bits of bun turned over all on its own.

The situation with Steve didn’t help. You were up and gagging over the side of the dock in a matter of seconds. Every bit of food came up with along with the tears now pouring out of your eyes. One deep breath after another and you felt better. You walked back to the bench, grabbed up your bottle of water and swished out the taste of bile of your mouth.

You didn’t have to search long for the possible reason for the sickness. Days. You were days late. No, today was a new week. You were at least three weeks late.

Cool sprinkles from the darkened sky bounced upon the edges of your fingers. Your hand hung there, head leaned back against the rest of the seat behind the wheel of your car. Brown eyes stared unfixed on a dark green bush in front of the pharmacy.

You glanced back at the dash. The white stick laid there, two lines told you perfectly why you were sick.

The sticky thought of motherhood clung to your anxiety. You shut your eyes and concentrated on the movement of water over the skin of your hand. Drops, pittered on the hood and roof of your car became a melody of sorts. A natural hum that turned to a blasting orchestra in a matter moments as the clouds began to pour. You didn’t move from the rain.

You would need Steve to be there. Really be there for you, and the baby. And yes, he had tried to move his work around. He was right, you chastise yourself for calling him out. But even while he changed when he worked he never changed how much he worked. His body and mind were still loyal to battle, missions, and conflict.

How could a child be raised in this?

You loved him. Even without the words to explain the depth you knew how far that love could go because you were still here. You were hopelessly devoted, head-over-heels in love with Steve Rogers.

And now you had two heartbeats.

Warm tears fell to hot cheeks. You wiped them away with rain-soaked fingers. Imaginings of how you would tell him began to stir. Steve’s sensuous lips turned up into a smile was the best outcome. But another, darker, pushed forward. One where he rejected the idea, told you it was too much and left.

You turned over the ignition. No sense worrying about that, you told yourself. Steve was a better man than most.

_You hoped_.

~~

The compound was quiet when you returned. Your small bag hung over your shoulder, soaked sneakers squeaked on the polished stone.

His quarters were quiet too and dimly lit as you slung the bag off onto the small island accidentally knocking off a wire basket with a couple of apples in it. 

Steve appeared around the corner from the living room. He was clean, with just his boxers on limp strands brushed along his temples.

“So, are you slammin’ shit around now?” he accused, crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared at you.

“No. It was an acc-“ your voice faded out. You shrugged at Steve and moved to walk around him in the door frame.

He put his arm in the doorway blocking your exit. “Was it?” he asked. Steve’s eyes moved from your downturned lids to the rim of your lips.

Mint, maybe a hint of alcohol lingered on his breath as he spoke. “Answer me.” He asked softly.

Steve leaned over you, his warm wet lips kissed at the corner of your mouth. You brushed him off attempted to move passed him again but he stepped in front of you.

He kissed you again, though this time his hands wrapped around your waist holding you there. Steve rubbed his groin into your belly while his fingers pressed harder into the muscles of your back.

You pushed back on his shoulders breaking the kiss. “Stop. Let me pass.” And you tried to move out of his grasp. Steve didn’t allow you to go. He only stepped into the living room with you still pushing against chest.

“Steve, I want to lay down…please.” He kissed you again, your hands brushed against his silky beard pushing his face away.

“Honey. Come’ on,” he licked your neck, forced his way in closer by pulling your hands from his face and boxing you in at the wall.

He pecked again near your ear as he whispered. “I’ve missed you all week.”

“Steve…”

You protested. Sometimes you always did, at first. In these last months, it happened more often. Though part of you regretted it, your body soon shivered with the hot shake of want that was all too familiar reaction to his touch.

“I’m trying honey. I am,” he spoke softly again and pulled you by your wrists toward the couch. “You mean everything.”

You wanted to walk away. And you tried but the grip on your wrist was tighter more desperate than your need to leave. “Steve, I don’t think you mean that at all.” You said with a sharp jerk to your wrist.

Steve pulled you back into him your palms, fingers glided across his naked warm chest. He softly hushed you; his breath blew down to you as your body hit the cushions of the couch with him on top of you.

He was quicker, more able at taking your jeans off than you were at restricting access. Your jeans clung to your ankles as you rolled off the couch, kicked them off but Steve was there again. On your back pushing, you face-first into the cold stone floor.

Sweet, shy Steve, the man of your life became something else in these short moments. Desperately he tugged at your underwear while wedging his thick knees between your thighs spreading you open. There were no words. Only hisses and groans, pleading moans that shook you to your core.

“Let me, honey…” he said softly in your ear. You were not accustomed to begging. Not from him.

Short whispers brushed into the shell of your ear once more with the sound of your panties tearing baring your naked ass for only his eyes.

He had never done this. Sure you had seen something darker lurk. In his eyes, flashes of possessive tendencies but not this. You tried to lean up from the ground as you pushed back on your palms.

“Stop movin’.” He panted. Steve pushed the heel of his palm in between your shoulder blades and shoved into your wet folds. Your pained gasp did nothing to stop him. His other hand gripped the fat of your hip as he snapped again into you.

Your palms were flat on the stone bracing his every impact. Slick with sweat your face slid up and down with his short, feral pounding. You took him in, his width, his length. Over and over. The uncaring act made you drip around his cock.

“Baby…why,” he moaned.

“Why are you so fucking mouthy, girl.” His hand left your ass as did the other in the middle of your spine, both hands grabbed up your forearms and pinned you to the floor.

Delicious. You smiled. You were caught, the feeling of being at his mercy had you clenching hard around his cock. Lusciously he dove into you harder than before.

“Fuck Steve, Stevie..love.” Your voice comes out harsh, ragged as you tried to form words. Steve knows the only thing you need now is a finger at your clit. He dragged your left hand above, still gripping your wrist hard as he laid on top of you dove his other underneath you and began to rub hard circles on your clit.

The fat of your ass jiggled as your hips shook. Steve smiled to himself, he knew you would love this, out of control lust he suspected was your thing. He just needed the opportunity. And your bratty mouth was enough.

And when you cum. Gasping for air, eyes rolled back with a smile on your lips he couldn’t help but follow.

Steve stayed there afterward, allowing every drop to be milked by your tightness, your silky interior. He kissed your neck and road out the lingering waves of your orgasm. And when your breaths steadied he finally rolled over, leaned against the couch with his knee drawn up and a thick arm was thrown over it.

You sat up, leaned on one of your palms as you watched him in return. His satisfied grin only grew when you fingered the torn flaps of your panties. You turned from him, your eyes focused on the rumpled pile of jeans near the couch. The silence between was met with your huffs and sparse sniffles.

A baby. The thought exploded in your mind. It blew right passed the last twenty minutes and pushed you right back into the anxiety of the day. Quickly you stood and leaned over to pick up your jeans near Steve. He was still watching you but you refused to look at him. Those blue eyes were always far too invasive, too knowing.

You rolled them around in your hands until they were a wad.

“I’m pregnant.” You whispered.

“What?”

You finally turned your eyes down to him. Your voice carried further than your whisper.

“I said I’m pregnant, Steve.” He flinched; subtle, a twitch in his brow, but it was a flinch none the less. He glanced at the spot on the floor where he had just held you down. His eyes stayed there and said nothing.

You licked your lips, kept them tucked in as you watched him.

You sighed, held the wadded up pants tighter to your chest. “So, I guess we’ll see if you can _move_ around that.” You said softly.

* * *

**Before the _app_**

The members of the team never needed to mix with the office employees. But Steve was the captain, the leader and they followed him when he said they could.

At first, it was an exercise to interact with other people. He thought of it as socialization training. When you are out there fighting, and neck-deep in death it can be easy to forget who you are. And the fact the office was practically connected to the training grounds was a plus. Steve encouraged the team to make friends, get to know the people and remember why they fight.

For Steve, it was you.

When the office space first opened, furniture was still new and the area began to quietly fill up you were the first person that made it worth coming there.

You were a fresh breeze in the stagnated recycled air. Your smile made him smile. And you were so easy to strike up a conversation with.

But when you started to watch Bucky, you smiled at him and it tore Steve down.

You joked with Bucky, laughed at his dumb jokes and stroked his metal arm. It pissed him off.

Steve shook the thought from his head. He was on his fortieth mile on the treadmill. Not sweating, barely out of breath he steadily kept going with Bucky on the one next to him. The conversation had taken a turn Steve knew was coming.

“She likes me.” Said Bucky with a smile. Childish as it sounded, it was the truth. And he liked you too.

“And when you date her? How long will that last? She isn’t disposable. She’s not one of your rags.” said Steve.

Like Bucky could keep you around? Steve saw the women that he ran through. Too scared to commit to any of them and far too excited to break it off before they developed feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of him doing that to you. Besides, Steve had seen you first. As far as he was concerned you were already his, you just didn’t know it yet.

“Does she even see you?” asked Bucky.

“She will,” said Steve.

* * *

_**Before**_  
  
  
Steve was asleep. But you were awake, wide awake you laid on your back, a hand rested on the swell of your seven-month pregnant stomach and watched the ceiling.

It was another weekend at the compound and Steve was nowhere near changing his work schedule.

It was a topic he didn’t like. But you brought it up anyway.

Tonight was no different. Well, that wasn’t true. Tears slid from your eyes down your temple and into your bonnet.

He _yelled_ at you. The man with a stone-cold temperament had mouthed off harsh words and threatened to work for as long as he wanted if you didn’t stop bringing it up.

But it ended the same.

His hands all over you, holding you down, pinning you against the bed and his body.

Your hands rubbed at the tears as you sat up in bed. You glanced in the dark at the large mass covered up to his ears next to you and sighed.

You pulled off the wrap, put on some sweats and left the room. You left his quarters and started walking. Waddled more like it. You felt so heavy in the middle and your heart.

Maybe this is what happened. Love, it comes harsh and rough until finally, you lean into the complacencies of a usual life. The gory details of how and why a relationship ended get lost in the relief that it was over.

But it wasn’t over. You didn’t know what was going to happen. But you loved him, and you hoped he still loved you.

Grabbed a book off the shelf, any book and sat on the couch. You sat in the common area. Before you cracked it open to get lost in another world besides your own shit, movement caught your eye. Entering the room was Bucky, with no shirt, thick sweats and some socks he looked like you felt. Eyes barely open with the dreary stress-induced lack of sleep he rubbed at his face. He glanced twice at you before he stopped and assessed you.

“You’re awake too?” he mumbled and walked toward you. He sat on the coffee table near you and kicked a leg up on it.

You shrugged as he continued to watch. He rubbed over his face again.

“I want to know what’s going on.” He said. “I can hear it from my room, you know.”

You looked up at him. He was steadily staring back at you with his pale eyes fixed at first on your stomach and then to your eyes.

“Bucky-“ you started to say, wanting more than anything that he both had never heard anything but also left the conversation alone.

“The fighting, it’s getting worse.” He added. Bucky turned his head toward the window behind you, took in his reflection and sighed before looking back at you. “Steve is my best friend. I know him. If he’s-“

You shut the book. “He’s not going to hurt me.”You said.

There was a silence as Bucky studied you, his eyes narrowed when he suddenly grew serious.

“I never said that.” He gently shook his head.

“Oh.”

“He was a strange kid.” Bucky scooted in one motion across the table closer, legs propped up on the cushion next to you. “Growing up poor can mess with you. It’ll either make you appreciative or make you hold on too tight.”

You leaned back on the couch. “Like fighting?” you asked.

“Protecting.”

Wedging the book between his legs and your thigh you leaned forward clasping your hands in your lap. “Bucky, he fights me. I don’t think he wants this relationship.”

Bucky shifted a bit, leaned on his hand toward you. “If you only knew.”

You shrugged, confused about what he was eluding to, your voice hushed as you spoke. “What does that mean?”

“If Steve sees something he goes after it with his whole heart and worries about the details later.”

Another round of silence with Bucky still eyeing your disposition and you felt no better. He nudged your arm with a few fingers bring your attention back to him.

“You can come to me.” His hand dropped to his thigh. “Like a buffer, or something. Anything, really. Even if you just want to sit in silence. I’ll read to you.“ He grinned but it soon slipped from his expression as he stood and sat near you on the couch.

“And..” Bucky entangled his metal fingers with his flesh fingers as he stared at the table. “You’ll tell me if he does anything other than yelling.” He looked at you, his blue eyes glanced over your face before meeting you eye to eye.

“Bucky.”

“Steve’s in love with you. Maybe focusing on you is becoming more and more difficult because he thinks he can’t be the man you deserve. Or the father he knows his baby needs. So you’ll tell me if he gets worse. Change, some men can’t handle it.”

You nodded. Silently you acknowledged Bucky’s words and the implication of a man not quite prepared for the family he created. If anything, Bucky could be the friend you were losing in Steve. And perhaps, with a fresh eye on the situation, you could squeeze by the harsher moments.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You unloaded the few grocery bags on to your brand new-to-you kitchen counter. A brownstone, all yours and Steve’s new home was still in the process of coming together. Boxes were still needed to be unpacked but you took a long break.

Bucky had arrived earlier and swept you away to the park for a sweet bagel and a much-needed slice of pizza. You smiled to yourself while remembering how Bucky’s laugh flew out of his mouth as he spoke about the new girl in his life.

It was lovely. Seeing him smile, and carry on about this woman who had suddenly turned him around. He slept better, could think easily now when panic attacks occurred. He no longer seemed heavily distracted. How refreshing and exciting for him.

His smile was in your mind. Bright and surrounded by coal stubble his grin had been contagious. Even now, with your thoughts firmly planted in the fading recollection, you barely registered the stomping footfalls coming down the stairs.

You smoothed out top around your belly. Sweating from the heatwave and needing quick relief you pressed the cool water bottled against your neck. You spread your other hand against the chilled counter-top and took a deep breath while still thinking about your trip to the park.

“Where were you?” You jumped, shocked at the pitch Steve’s shout from behind you.

By the time you turned toward the entryway door frame, Steve was only a few feet from you. Thick brows dipped, blue eyes focused on your face his right fist slightly clenched.

Before you could speak Steve shut you down with his voice shooting down at you. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded.

You were confused at his agitation. Steve shifted to the right he grabbed the water bottle from your hand you had pressed near your neck and threw it at the sink. "Where were you?” he asked again.

You jerked your head back, disgusted at his tone and his behavior you stumbled over your words. “I forgot my phone! And you, you, said the meeting would be for hours!”

You looked back at the sink, the plastic bottle lid had popped off spilled cold water over the lip of the counter and on to the floor.

You turned back to him, your hands up in the air to surrender to his contention. “Bucky came over, took me out to the park. I forgot my phone on the way out!”

Steve shook his head like he didn’t believe you and stepped closer to you. His belt pressed against your belly, a reflex you cupped it and fed up with him you started to move away.

“It’s not like you missed me.” You said under your breath.

Steve leaned down harshly speaking into your ear. “Of course I missed you, was looking for you..”

You stepped back, his grating voice and his behavior easily started upping your blood pressure. “It’s just another day.” You jutted out your hand at him, wrung it out like all of this yelling was the least of your worries. “You were out doing missions or whatever.”

Your fuck all attitude goaded Steve. It poked at his need to know where you were at all times. And through his haze of jealousy, he snatched up your arm as you tried to walk away.

“Don’t start again.” He warned.

You snapped your arm away but he didn’t let go. Instead, he squeezed harder, his thumb burned as he dug in.

“Are you fucking him?” he accused.

“Bucky?” you spit back almost bellowed out in his face. Confusion creased around your eyes, your mouth hung open.

Steve fixed on the bump under your shirt and then flicked up to your eyes.

“Now you think I’m cheating?” Your voice broke. “Me? Steve? I’m here all the time, _alone_.” You jerked your arm against his grip. “And now you don’t think this is, the baby, you think I cheated?” you sobbed and pulled your arm again.

This time he let go. The scorn in his eyes slid to fear, wide blue eyes stared down at you. He tried to soothe you. Tears, buckets of drops poured from your eyes as his hands flew to your cheeks. But you swiped at him, pushed back on his chest as you walked out of the kitchen.

The gentle sound of wind lightly blew through the window. It caressed your face as you stared into the night sky, passed the street light above the brownstone across the street and gazed at the black.

When Steve laid down, he put his face right in front of yours.

“I’m sorry, honey,” whispered Steve.

Dried tears stuck to your face around your mouth. You tasted the salty aftermath as you licked your lips before you spoke. “No, you’re not.” You said flatly, shifted your eyes to his lips and refused to look him in the eye.

Steve did not speak. He moved in close, forced you to put your head on his chest as he rested a warm hand on your stomach. His beard scratched the top of your head.

“I am.” He said softly.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I do.” Said Steve. He forced your face up to him with the hook of his finger. “I _do_.”

“I swear to you when I get back I’ll lay it all out.” He promised.

He stared down into the shadows around your eyes. “You’re leaving again? What’s new.” You said quietly, dejectedly.

“Something is happening. We can’t contact Wanda and Vision. They need me.”

The shadows glistened back at him with what he suspected were the beginnings of tears. “I need you. _We_ need you.” You croaked.

“You will have me.”

Steve kissed your lips. And for the first time in a few months, you honestly kissed him back too. Held on to him as well, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulder as he leaned over you. His hands brushed over your stomach to your hip, his tongue licked around the rim of your lower lip then sealed it with a peck.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said, and then pressed his thumb to your lower lip, kissed you again on the corner of your mouth.

Steve stared at you from the doorway. He promised that finally, you would understand him better. He assured, silently to himself he would be more open. He vowed to let you know the fears and dreams he had held on to all this time.

There would be time.

But there wasn’t. It was the last time he saw you alive.

* * *

_ **Now** _

Steve surveyed the neighborhood from the skiff’s windscreen. It was home. One he had not seen in two years.

His stomach flipped again. Nerves were getting the best of him but he swallowed back the fear. He directed the warrior to hover over the brownstone he had picked out for you. Steve jumped from the skiff without question and landed on his feet on the roof.

His fast able strides brought him to the access door. He ripped it open practically flew down the stairs of the third floor. By the second he heard something.

A voice? Did he imagine it?

Steve wiped the sweat from his smooth jaw as he landed on the first floor. A shadow across the kitchen from the living room made him stop. He blinked away tears, let them fall as he took a step toward the doorway.

“Steve?” Your sweet voice called from beyond the living room. Steve held on to the door frame to the living room and turned his head to the left. The kitchen archway was there and through it, he saw a light on.

He caught a wisp of the lavender-blue sundress you use to wear. And then you were there. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen the light from the living room flooded around you bathing you in the purest afternoon sunlight.

Alive and breathing with the full stomach he remembered. Glowing brown skin, and full lips, your hair dark curls pulled back away from your face. Your eyes stared back at him in shock.

Steve pushed off from the doorway and ran to you. He crashed into you, knocking you back a few steps but he held on to you so tightly you never would have fallen.

“Steve? What happened?”

He buried his face into your neck. “You shaved?” you asked again in the voice that used to haunt his dreams.

He was once a man out of time. That second chance at life most would cling to, he turned away from it for a few years. That next battle, the sustainability of a mission always seemed more important. It was torture for him though. Living a half-life. He took it for granted what it meant. Somewhere along the way, he misplaced his gratitude for his chance with you too.

All those little fights seemed trivial now. He had five years to remember you. And to also recall his ineptitude. Not the good man he could have been. Not the great soldier he wanted to be. He was barely a husband.

Steve fell to his knees, his eyes never turned from yours as he kissed your stomach then clung to you.

“I’m going to be here. Always.” Said Steve, he held your hand within his own and peppered them with kisses.

“What happened?” you asked again and when Steve continued to kiss your hands and then hold them to his face you spoke once more. “You’re scaring me. Please…”

“I lost you.” He said into your skin. His hot breath puffed in between your fingers. “I lost everything. I won’t let that happened again.”  
  
“Steve,” Your hands caressed the sides of his beard. He stood, and ran his hands down your back as he kissed your lips. “I’m not lost..” you said between pecks.   
  
A prism flickered across your face, your hair, somewhere beyond the window a car passed flashing a rainbow over your skin. You smiled and Steve melted. To his bones he felt the love that he denied himself. Even more, he felt grateful you still wanted him. He soaked in the image of light dancing off the brown of your eyes.   
  
“You’re right here,” he said and pulled you into his embrace.   
  
“I’m never taking that for granted again.” 


End file.
